There's something about the combination of their shoegazey, distorted drones and James Allan's cracked, sulky Scots brogue that leaves these tales of emotional turmoil oddly ineffectual: even at its most fancifully Spectorian, it sounds strangely insubstantial. And as with bad acting, it's not persuasive enough to make one care.

What's blindingly clear is that, without the sparking creativity of a Syd or Roger, all that's left is ghastly faux-psychedelic dinner-party muzak.

In truth, the move towards country music made on Younger Now is fraught with potholes that she and producer Oren Yoel rarely manage to avoid. The main problem is the half-heartedness of the move.

Long Way Down is stuffed with bogus sensitivity, crystallisations of emotional disquiet couched in chant choruses, and polite piano arrangements reliant on a few chord-changes.

Their brusque punk-pop style and his louche intonation suggest a tidier version of the Libertines.

[Jupiter Calling] still relies too heavily on routine romantic fluff like “Hit My Ground Running” and the glutinous “Butter Flutter.” T-Bone Burnett has been drafted in as producer, and brings his usual taste and expertise

There’s nothing on this record to equal the giddy delight of Perry’s greatest hits. No fireworks to light up the dance floor, but enough to raise a smile.

If Scenic Drive sets out to be an easy-listening accompaniment to a late-night ride, it’s successful. But if you’re looking for something with more clarity and oomph, your car horn may be the better option.

Songs are lyrically underwritten, pretentiously packaged, and too often bookended by stretches of lilting, soporific ambience.

Overall, it's their most spirited effort yet, and the changes have been deftly effected in a way which shouldn't alienate their core fanbase too much.

The Lost Tapes II sounds like an artist rediscovering his love for hip hop in the most joyous and satisfying way.

A very credible record with no real mistakes--but no real personality, either.

The enjoyable only just outweighs the annoying on the opener "Never Let Me Go", where the auto-tuned vocal is a let-down.

Thanks to her faithful for enabling the rest of us to enjoy Correa's gauzy, melodic dream-pop.

Arthur grossly overdoes the emotional groaning that passes for vocal expression in the album's more overwrought corners.

It's the original tracks that bring a new life to the form, while the standards--routine duets of "I Wanna Be Like You" and "Dream a Little Dream" with Olly Murs and Lily Allen, and a bland "Puttin' on the Ritz"-- sound like filler.

For the most part, though, Blood Red Roses’ vaguely anthemic ditties are as adrift as his sailor, with nothing much beneath the surface.

While a dozen singles will probably be lifted from Doggumentary, as an album experience it's an utter dogg's breakfast – as might be expected from a project that credits no fewer than 20 different producers and 35 engineers.

It features blues standards remodelled as reggae skanks, bland takes on the Great American Songbook, and too much acoustic guitar and dobro.

The main problem is that overall, the aptly-titled By Default just lacks excitement and panache.

Ignoring the diabolical “Saviour”, which sounds like a hundred other Nashville-based bands song (featuring the chorus: “Thinking I could save you, I’ll never be your saviour”), the results are much more interesting on the second half.

Trip-hop pioneers Morcheeba continue to broaden their approach on Head Up High, incorporating dancehall, dubstep and rock elements into grooves informed by European soundtrack/library music. Remarkably, they still keep it infectious.

Throughout, the sound is brittle and strident, like space-rock-candy, with Deborah Harry's allure buried far too deeply in the crowded mix to be particularly effective.

He doesn't care whether you want it or not, he's going to do it anyway. And How to Compose... confirms that he undoubtedly still loves music. The problem is, it's usually somebody else's music,

While the U2-style arena-rock impressions that dogged Keep The Village Alive persist in places here, elsewhere Scream Above The Sounds finds Kelly Jones in more reflective mood, resulting in a more appealing balance of head and heart overall.

This is a 12-track cringefest on which Stewart celebrates carnal love in between songs about his late father.

The poorest served is hapless Ellie Goulding, struggling against the hurtling momentum of "I Need Your Love"; more successful is Florence Welch on "Sweet Nothing".

Though his fare is bland, it is sincere and hygienically prepared. No thrills, but all affable, affordable, family-friendly fills.